


Hermione's Fortuitous Day

by Meandrina



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2815523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meandrina/pseuds/Meandrina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione has had enough and has finally decided to do something about the current state of her affairs. Sixth year, Dramione oneshot. Please read and review!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hermione's Fortuitous Day

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters featured in this story are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended.

Of all the things that she could have noticed, she watches his hands. Watches them move in careless, sweeping motions, caressing her back, her arms, her sides. Watches them get entangled in that strawberry blonde hair and stay there, as his mouth works with the intensity, she recalls absently, identical to her mother's rubber nozzeled vacuum cleaner. Her gaze flits down to her dainty little feet, standing on tiptoe, left one propped slightly behind the right, rock steady. Ron wasn't going to let her fall. He's high on life tonight.

All of a sudden, she can't take it anymore. The drunken cheer is like a plastic bag closing in on her, making it difficult for her to draw in a breath. She takes an abrupt turn and dashes out of the portrait hole. She knows that she hasn't quite managed a quiet getaway but, oh well. Typical Harry.

The rest is all a blur. Just this angry pounding in her brain. Ron and Lavender come waltzing in, hand in hand. Their faces have turned hazy and that's when she realises that she's been crying. The thought fills her up with this strange, explosive mixture of rage and self-pity that she fires the first spell which comes into her mind.

Bright yellow canaries.

Yeah, not her best moment. But still legit, considering.

His howls of pain were kind of funny, now that she thinks about it. He's covered with angry gashes this morning, and the thought that he doesn't know the spell to get rid of them, and she sure as fuck wasn't going to tell him, fills her with glee. Surely Lav-Lav will kiss it better, the slut.

She ponders over her state of mind. It's just a kind of itchy irritation that she's feeling. Maybe its jealousy, maybe its anger, heck what did she know? She wasn't a jealous person and she's never been particularly mad over stuff either. Seriously, she'd quit fancying Ron a long time ago, maybe sometime around in the middle of their fourth year. She hadn't really given much thought to it, as her childish self had been too busy soaking up some Bulgarian attention. And after that, she'd always figured that Ron was the one she'd eventually fall in love with. All the signs were there. He was the one she was the most comfortable with, he always incited such passionate responses in her when they were fighting, he looked so cute in his mother's Christmas sweaters and he was always warm. All they needed was a trigger, something akin to flipping on a switch, a flyaway match to their kindling.

She knew that the day she'd fall in love with him was a day far, far in the future. Because falling in love at sixteen, well who  _does_  that? But she'd been waiting for some time and right when things were supposed to be looking up, in comes the opportunistic bitch.

Why, just why did it have to be  _her_? Why could she be someone marginally sensible like Parvati, or..Susan Bones?

She figures that as far as triggers go, this should technically count as one, but it didn't exactly have her singing the tune of love. All that it has managed to unleash is this thick, gurgling irritation. The kind that makes her want to stick her index finger down her throat and vomit.

It takes her all of three seconds to figure it out. She's not really mad at Ron, she's mad at herself. For waiting for something, someone who goes for...Lavender Brown. Okay well, she doesn't exactly know the girl that well; she could have a bleeding heart or a secret passion for obscure subjects like Divination (gag) and Xylomancy for all she knew. But it didn't change the fact that if she knew next to nothing about Lavender, Ron didn't know one damn thing! And he chose  _her_  over her, after acting like a complete prat for god knows what and then ignoring her for weeks straight. He chose Lavender over every single girl in the school!

It's one week now. She realizes that her grades were eventually going to suffer if she keeps this stewing up in her own brain. Her mind wanders back to Ron's lucky Quidditch match...to think that she'd been so happy for him. She'd rushed down to congratulate but had been swallowed by the crowd.

She wants to feel happy again. She wants to know what peace feels like.

All of a sudden, an idea pops into her mind.

* * *

 

Harry is sitting by the fire, flipping through that godawful textbook. She shakes her head but goes over to sit by him. He gives her a tired smile and she almost abandons the whole thing. Almost.

"How're you Hermione?"

"I'm completely fine Harry."

He gives her a sidelong glance.

"That's good to hear."

She sighs.

"I wanted to talk to you. I need a favour actually."

"What?" His tone is open, unassuming.

She hesitates, but plows on.

"I want a bit of your Felix Felicis."

His eyes nearly fall out of his sockets.

"You do?  _You_ do? After all the hell you made me go through during the game last week?" It doesn't escape her notice how he casually manages not to bring up Ron's name.

She tries to look guilty, but ends up looking stoic.

Sighing, she says, "I know, and I'm sorry. Its just..I was thinking about it. Do you remember what Professor Slughorn said that day? When he told us about Liquid Luck? About how he'd had the best day of his life when he'd used it. I haven't had any good days lately. I can't even remember the last time I laughed. Merlin's its pitiful, I don't even go to the library anymore."

Harry's staring at her with concern.

"I know you need it more, but I just want one sip. A few drops, really. I just want to feel what it's like for a little while."

He takes her hand in his own.

"Hermione, I'd give you the whole darn thing, you know I would. But are you sure about this? It doesn't sound like you."

"I am. I just keep thinking about it. I'd brew it if I could but it's not allowed in Hogwarts. Will you give it to me?"

He smiles.

"Of course."

"Okay."

He looks on.

"What, right  _now_?"

She gives him a cheeky smile.

"I know you always have it on you. I've seen you patting down your robes to check. But yes, it's best if I have it right now. I don't want to prolong what I'm feeling."

"What are you feeling?"

"Dead."

He whips out the vial from his robe's innermost pocket.

It's a beautiful little thing. The colour of molten gold leaps out at her, calling her in. Tiny drops are bobbing around inside the glass confines, settling down for the blink of an eye before another pops up. It's the most perfect thing ever.

Reaching out for it gently, she holds it between her thumb and index finger. The surface is cool and smooth. Taking a deep breath, she uncorks it. It's odourless. She glances up at Harry, who's staring intently back at her. He raises an eyebrow.

"Good luck." He says.

She grins at the word, brings the vial to her lips and tilts it ever so slightly.

It flows light on her tongue and tastes a bit sour. A few seconds later after she's swallowed it, she starts feeling it. A tingly heat that unfurls down her veins and settles deep inside her stomach.

"How do you feel?" Harry asks.

"Fantastic." She breathes.

"You do realize that it is something meant to provide you with luck in 'all your endeavours' don't you? It's not pot. It's not going to make you feel happy."

She knows that. But…and no she  _isn't_ imagining it..everything appears so much brighter. So full of texture. If this is not happiness, it sure as hell feels like it.

"I know what I'm doing, Harry. I'll see you later!" She beams as she swiftly makes her way towards the girls' dormitories. She's reaching for the fifth step when she hears Harry saying, "Seriously? You're going back to your  _room_? Don't you think that defeats the whole purpose?"

She ignores him, simply answering to her inner voice that's cheering her on. It's like floating on a large, fluffy cloud.

Entering the dorm, she finds it empty of its inhabitants save for Lavender who's sprawled wide on her bed, wearing her oversized pyjamas and face devoid of any makeup. She's reading Teen Witch Weekly and her foot is moving to an imaginary beat. Sighting Hermione, her eyebrows raise in antagonism.

"Hello Lavender. How are you this fine afternoon?"

She stares at her, speechless. Then her eyes narrow.

"Just peachy. What about you?" She turns her attention back towards the magazine in her lap. But a second later, she slaps it closed.

"Look if you're here about Ron, you can just go right out the door this instant. And if not, I seriously think you should get over it. Its not like Ron was ever interested in you to begin with. He only saw you as a friend. You can't change what he's feeling."

Strange, such a long speech and she's still not feeling the urge to box her ears or throttle her by her hair.

"I'm aware of that Lavender. In fact, I came here to tell you how happy I am. You have all my best wishes. I really think you're the right girl for Ron."

Her blue eyes widen in disbelief.

She continues, "Ron is a dear friend of mine and I would only wish the best for him. It was childish of me to be against your relationship but I have seen the error in my judgement. I really hope you won't let our rickety relationship – the one between me and you, that is - get in between our friendship. He's my best friend, you see, and I cannot stand to lose him." She ends it with a faint smile.

Lavender's face has displayed the entire palette of emotions as she continues to stare at her – contempt, suspicion, followed by surprise and now it's settled down to a hesitant mixture of guilt and awe.

"I…I don't even know what to say." She croaks out.

"It's completely fine Lavender. Just so we're clear, I don't hate you. And I wish you'd stop hating me."

"I'm sorry." She blurts out. "I – I always misunderstood you. I just thought you were jealous. But you're totally not what I expected."

"I could say the same. So we're cool, right?"

Lavender's face splits into a beatific smile.

"Oh, absolutely."

She grins back and then makes her way to her trunk situated at the foot of the bed.

It's flawlessly organised with winter robes off to one side, muggle clothes on the other and personal belongings at the bottom of each pile. She roots through the entire paraphernalia until her hands touched what she just realised she was looking for. It was a decrepit little red box, it rattled when she shook it.

"What have you got there?" Lavender asked.

"They're badges for Society for Promotion of Elfish Welfare. You want one?"

She opened the box and handed a blue one to her.

Lavender took it with a look of mild surprise on her face.

"Wow," she said, "You really are serious about this, aren't you?"

"Of course I am, we're just short of members. I've decided it's time to re-evaluate our goals and re-launch the whole thing. We need more members and the funds to incorporate our cause into the Ministry's Care of Magical Creatures official manifesto."

Lavender shook her head. "I'm not sure about this, but hell, why not? Elves need to have their rights because they're like, really important, right? I mean, what would we do without them?"

Hermione decided to let that pass and focus as it's the thought that counts.

"That would be two sickles."

Lavender digs into her fuchsia purse and hands her two coins.

She beamed at her.

"It was nice talking to you, Lavender, I hope we do this again sometime."

She waved her goodbye and skipped down the stairs, box rattling between her hands.

Harry must have gone up to his dorm as only a few fifth years and a pair of first years occupied the common room now.

Feeling energised and confident in her swaying powers she never thought she had, she took a turn around the room, offering badges.

"Think back to your earliest memory of the magical world. Imagine that wonder, the glory, the  _magic._ Now imagine working endlessly in dark, dingy surroundings, never pausing, never complaining, never stopping to wonder about how you do what you do. To possess the abilities that you know you possess and yet to never realize your worth because that's what you've been taught. To be a  _slave._

"House elves have been known to have possessed magic long before wizards but their true potential was never reached. They have always been discarded as inferiors, subordinates to the wizardkind, slaving away mindlessly only for a piece of bread, when all they had to do was trust their own selves. They're exploited, overworked and abused. Their magic, though much powerful, remains rudimentary and underdeveloped. It is our duty to treat them with kindness, to give them their dues. To unite for their justice and to rebel against such cruelty!"

A small crowd has gathered around her. She realizes that somewhere between offering badges and explaining her motives, she has managed to get brilliantly carried away. But this time it's different. This time she can sense that her efforts haven't really gone waste.

In a corner, she spots Dobby, who's wearing the hats she'd knitted so long ago, piled high over each other, a dirty mop in his hands. His eyes are filled with unshed tears.

In the spirit of the cause, she walks up to him, comes down to her knees and hugs him tightly.

The room erupts into raucous applause.

"You're not alone." She says to Dobby.

"Thank you Miss Granger, oh – thank you so much! Dobby can't bear it!" And he immediately bursts into a fit of tears.

"I'm in!" says one.

"So am I!" shouts another.

"We're with you, Hermione Granger!"

About a dozen hands come in, open and outstretched and she digs into the box to hand out the badges. She notices how they immediately fix them onto their robes, not stuff them in their pockets like she would have expected.

She collects the money – thirty Sickles – and peers into her box. Only a few badges remain. She'll have to recruit someone for the production of a new batch.

"I'll inform you about the meeting soon! Keep a close eye on your badge!"

She bids her new members farewell and steps out of the Gryffindor common room.

She closes her eyes for a minute and basks in the feeling. The irritation that had been bothering her is nowhere to be found. The dead feeling is gone too, in fact she's never felt more alive in her life. Her head feels lighter, her surroundings zoom in at her in exquisitely brightened detail and she could've sworn that her hair felt silky in that instant.

She skips down to the Great Hall, greeting everybody and smiling at the Professors. She curtsies as she passes Professor Snape who stops dead in his tracks. Dumbledore peers down at her and gives her a mysterious smile. Oh well, of course he is omniscient. The thought doesn't bother her.

She offers some more badges in her way which are hastily accepted.

"Thank you. You are now a registered member of S.P.E.W." She says to each one of them and even gets a few smiles in return.

She pirouettes down the corridor which is lined with large paintings of food and stops in front of the one with a fruit bowl. She tickles the pear with barely concealed excitement.

Golden warmth greets her as she steps in and the sight of a few hundred elves bustling about in the kitchens fills her with a steady determination.

The elves glance at her warily but without hostility and she wonders if they've forgotten her. One of them looks at the red box in her hands.

Hmm, probably not.

Thankfully they're not hell bent on ignoring her this time. She clears her throat.

"I am Hermione Granger, best friend of Harry Potter and founder of the Society for Promotion of Elfish Welfare." There are a few gasps. "I have recruited over thirty members today and I can safely state that the numbers are only going to expand. But I've also realized that it will all be essentially futile we have only one elf amongst ourselves, who although important to the cause, is already free and has readily embraced his rights."

"Albus Dumbledore is probably the greatest wizard who's ever lived and you are undoubtedly all happy and dare I say  _lucky_  to be working for him. But think, for a moment, about the ones who go through their lives without ever seeing the daylight! The ones whose families are slaughtered and children are starved at the whim of their masters! The ones who slave for the Death Eaters! They who do not have a single hope or a single friend, those who go their entire lives bending backwards at the will of some lazy pureblooded maniac who can't bother to pick up after himself. Doesn't your heart seize in revulsion? Do you not feel the urge to rebel? Do you not wish for rights that are as basic as regular wages, a few days off or a comfortable home to call your own? Do you not feel the need to  _unite_?"

The elves are looking at each now. But it's not wariness that appears on their faces, it's the novel perception of seeing the other elf as one's  _own kind,_ something that they had hitherto not realized.

There are many squeaky murmurs of approval but there are also a few voices who don't hesitate to voice their distrust.

But it doesn't matter. The very fact that her speech has moved them enough to freely voice their independent opinions is victory enough for her. They have begun to question someone who they had believed to be their lords and masters.

It brings her a deep satisfaction that she cannot even begin to describe.

"I see that you are yet undecided. That's alright. I give you a few days to consider. No, let me rephrase that. You would certainly  _need_ a few days to consolidate. I shall be back in a week. Good day to you!"

She pockets one badge and conveniently 'forgets' the red box in the kitchen as she ventures out into the grounds.

What a splendid day has it been. So productive and fulfilling! She has never felt such a vibrant feeling, it feels as if she has been rejuvenated from inside. All her previous worries have gone to dust.

She walks about the perimeter of the school ground. The day has come to an end. She watches the sun set behind the mountains, and she feels the promise of its return deep in her bones. She watches the birds take flight, returning to their dwellings after a long day. Even the Whomping Willow stands subdued, branches swaying gently from side to side.

Her feet automatically carry her to the Quidditch pitch.

She immediately spots someone who makes her realize that her luck has finally run out.

Her fortuitous day has come to a close.

As if to further prove that the blond haired menace catches her eye, and she could've sworn she saw his smirk even from this distance. Unperturbed, she continues forward.

"Lost your way to the library, Granger?" He calls out.

_Don't go on..this is a bad idea..turn around.._ her mind continues to chant but her feet have seemed to taken a life of their own.

"I'm out for a walk." She retorts.

The closer she gets, the clearer his face becomes. He's standing ramrod straight, feet wide apart, Firebolt clasped in a gloved hand. He's watching her with a look of calculated indifference. Only when she's standing directly in front of him does he blink.

Strange, she's never noticed how grey his eyes are or the way they look ensconced within lashes so blond they match his complexion.

"So," he says, breaking the short spell, "does your walking circuit usually intersect the Quidditch grounds?"

"It does today."

He raises an amused eyebrow. Then raises his chin haughtily, gazing across into the distance.

"If you're looking for Potter, I should tell you that he's currently making use of the Room of Requirement."

She shakes her head. "Sometimes I wonder if he's following you or if it's you who's the one following him."

If he's surprised by this little tidbit, he doesn't show it, but something tells her that he already knows.

"But no," she continues, "I'm not here looking for Harry."

He looks at her now, and she expects him to ask the obvious question that should follow her statement but he doesn't.

Instead he begins folding the cuffs of his sleeves. She stares, riveted by the sight of his white skin that is revealed inch by inch. She gasps when he unveils the left forearm. The skin is smooth and unblemished.

"Surprised?" He whispers.

She looks up at him and finds that they're standing closer than she thought. His gaze droops downwards.

"Yes." She says, honestly.

"I'm no Death Eater."

"Yet."

"No, I mean I'm really not. I'm not brave enough to be one."

"Yet."

She stares at her feet when she hears the rough crinkle of his Quidditch gear and the sound of his boots as he moves away from her.

He moves the Firebolt from one hand to the other.

"What, are you scared Granger?" He smirks, "Never thought I'd see the day."

Blood rushes into her cheeks.

"I'm not."

His cheeks pinken as if to mirror hers.

"Prove it."

"Oh, do I really need to?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Fly with me."

"I can't." She blurts automatically.

A beat later as she waits for the familiar rush of embarrassment that washes over her when somebody asks her this very dreaded question, she realizes that it's nowhere to be found.

She doesn't know if it's the potion's doing, or if it's just the sight of his pale blond hair moving gently in the wind, but she eventually ends up walking over to where he's situated, poised atop his gleaming Firebolt.

"I…"

"Hush, Granger. Or you'll never know what you're missing."

She takes a deep breath, moves her wand inside the inner pocket of her robe, and tightens the clasp that holds it together. She's deeply conscious of his gaze as it follows her every move.

Their eyes meet as she takes his outstretched hand.

"Wait!"

"What?" he says, annoyed.

A playful smile stretches along her lips. "I have one condition."

"Well, what is it?" He's clearly impatient.

She pulls out a badge – green – from her pocket and hands it to him.

"'Spew?'" He reads, "What in the Merlin's name is this?"

"Society for Promotion of Elfish Welfare." She states proudly, "Over thirty members and still counting. You have to promise me that you'll become a member."

The gobsmacked look his face is Colin's camera-worthy.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Scared, Malfoy?"

He opens his mouth to retort, but closes it in time.

"Fine. I must be crazy to be doing this."

Their eyes meet again as he pins the badge over his robes.

"That's two sickles."

"You can have it later." He barks. "Now, if you please…"

She gives the broom another sweeping glance, still unable to deduce its aerodynamics. (It's just a stick, really!)

"Well, here goes nothing."

She mounts it with infinite care; or rather Malfoy helps her mount. Evidently he doesn't want a scratch on his precious Firebolt.

"Ready?" He speaks into her ear. She feels her heart stutter in her ears.

And she can feel the way his left hand rests firmly on her waist, and the way his right arm is manoeuvred closely around her body to grip the handle in front. He's wearing his thick Quidditch robes, but somehow his warmth seeps through her layers and blazes a path of goose bumps across her skin.

She's getting warm, so warm.

Gently, with a movement that sets her heart fluttering, he brushes the mass of her hair over to one shoulder.

"It's blocking my view." He mutters.

"Just fly, Malfoy." She clenches her eyes shut.

She can pinpoint the exact moment when she becomes afloat, her breath has shortened within the span of five seconds and she can't, just can't look down.

"Open your eyes, Granger." He says almost lazily. How did he even-?

She opens her eyes, glances down, and immediately lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

They're higher than she expected, and they're moving forward, and the wind is hitting her face at an odd angle and  _Oh God, I'm gonna die…I'm gonna fall and crack my skull and I'll never pass my NEWTs and I won't ever have children!_

"Oh my God. Oh my-!"

"Granger.."

"Oh my God, we're going to die and  _what are you doing?!_ "

She's on the verge of hysterics but Malfoy seems prepared for that, as he cleverly distracts her by placing his chin over her shoulder and clutches her tighter.

"Shut up, you stupid bint."

"Take me down this instant!"

"Shut the fuck up Granger or so help me I'll knock you off. I swear I will."

"Really ferret, I'll take you down with me! I'm not kidding!"

"Well, neither am I! Shut your mouth and close your eyes!"

Surprisingly, she does.

"Now," he speaks slowly, "Do you feel me behind you? I'm right here. I'm holding you and you know that the chances of getting this over quickly depend on how well you cooperate with me. Do you understand? Nod once."

She nods.

"Now you're going to do as I say, and I'm going to take us around the castle and then I'm gonna let you down. Understood?"

She nods.

"Now slowly open your eyes. Don't look down. Just look for the owls."

She opens them once again. The sky is still light, and from this height she can see that the sun hasn't fully set in yet. She counts one, two…six owls in total, four of which are making their way back towards the Owlery.

"You've just learnt the most important lesson about flying, Granger. You don't need to look down; you'll only think about falling… all you have to do is to carry on forward."

She's only half listening. Her gaze has moved to the castle, with its many turrets and towers, lights blinking on in ascension. From her birds' eye view she can make out the forgotten stairways, the broken ledges, the lone grapevine making its stubborn way up.

Malfoy senses her temporary quiet and does not say a word. He simply steers the broom higher, faster, rounding around the castle, turning each path trickier than his last. Hermione doesn't seem to care.

She has unknowingly latched on the strange calm that she's feeling, and none of Malfoy's trials at testing her limits can seem to shake her off it. A cacophony of sounds is trickling into her ears: cackling birds, foraging animals, Hagrid's beasts, the occasional Hippogriff or two, and it's all mingled with the sound of the wind whooshing against her ears. It's comforting, enchanting,  _peaceful._

She doesn't know how long they've been drifting around aimlessly, but she feels the subtle change that washes over them both when the darkness sets in and the stars begin to twinkle. She doesn't know how it's happened, but her focus has moved from inside to the very person who's holding her close.

And at that very instant, she feels his heartbeat quicken against her back.

Slowly, he steers them towards the Astronomy tower, she wouldn't have recognised it in the dark but it's the highest of all the towers.

They glide smoothly inside. A crow squawks loudly as her robe hits it, and when they're finally stationary, she silently gets off the Firebolt. She has to brace herself against the cold walls to prevent from falling.

Malfoy comes gracefully to his feet, brushes some lint off his shoulder and turns to prop his Firebolt against the wall. Then, slowly he turns to face her.

In two long strides, he has covered the distance between them.

She doesn't know who moves in first, but the thought is soon forgotten as his mouth swoops down to cover her own. His gloved fingers move deep into the recesses of her hair and her own wind around his neck. He's moving fiercely, delving deeper into her mouth and she's moving backwards at the force of his strength as she's finally pressed against the wall.

Their lips meet, and detach and meet and detach with loud, inelegant smacks but their hearts beat so much more louder. She touches his lower lip with her tongue, and he lets out a tortured groan. He withdraws slightly to take off his gloves, before resuming kissing her with a renewed frenzy.

"What's this, Granger?," he rasps between his kisses, as she struggles to catch her breath, "'Thanks for the ride?'"

"Shut up." He smirks against her throat. His hands have stolen into her sweater, and his mouth is tracing a blazing path down her neck.

"I'm more than happy to shut up."

They kiss some more.

"You..," she draws in a shaky breath. "Malfoy, you're just… you're always staring at me."

He brings down his mouth for another kiss.

"Merlin," he pants, "Of all the days, now she speaks. Why did you choose today to act over it?"

She's silent.

Then she giggles.

Her giggles turn into full-fledged laughter, as she brushes the now-sweaty blond hair from his eyes.

"You see, Malfoy. Today-" she pecks him on the mouth, "-just happens to be my lucky day!"

* * *

 


End file.
